Truth Forgotten
by ShhUrDead678
Summary: It's Sam's birthday and Dean/John forget. They leave Sam and go on a hunt, leaving him to stay behind in some crappy, second-rate motel. While there, an unexpected visitor arrives at Sam's door. Contains abuse, Hurt!Sam12, Pissed!Dean16/John
1. Chapter 1

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!  
**_P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O **

I may soon be getting a beta! YAY!!!

hope u like it!!!!!

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**_____________________________**

"Alll right, Sam, remember everything I've taught you. If something ever goes wrong you call Pastor Jim."

Sam nodded nonchalantly as John finished talking and finished up packing as he stuffed everything into the Impala, all the weaponry and spell books located in the secret compartment of the trunk.

They were leaving again, on a hunt. Again. This time was different though, there wasn't a kid just waiting for his family to come back alive, but a kid waiting for his family to come back alive on his _birthday_. That's right. At approximately 7:30 this morning, give or take a half hour, Sam had turned 12.

Dean ran out of the motel room to meet them outside. He seemed to be running in Sam's direction, maybe even getting ready to wish him a "Happy Birthday" but no such thing happened. He ran passed Sam and to the Impala and threw his extra duffel bag onto the back seat. He turned to Sam.

"All right, squirt, we'll be back in about a week. Be careful, okay?" Dean said it jokingly, but Sam was all too aware of the prominent concern lurking underneath the mask. It was always going to be there. He was certain that Dean couldn't handle another death in the family, Mom was enough to last a lifetime, and it probably will.

Sam smiled despite himself, hoping Dean wouldn't see through the cracks. He was all too observant when it came to his little brother, but he seemed to hyped up about the hunt to give a damn at the moment. Sam played it off, realizing this was one of the few hunts Dean's been in and played a big role in the turn of events for the monstrosity of the day. He had to prove his worthiness to John, prove he could fight off any badass thrown at him.

Sam's face fell as Dean ruffled his hair lightly then jumped into the driver's seat, which he had gotten a driver's license for nearly a month ago. He was ecstatic from start to finish. After a quick goodbye from John the two were in the Impala, ready for the demons they would soon be hunting and, hopefully, mutiliating in record time. Sam watched as Dean put the car in drive and drove off, a wave of smoke erupting from the rear of the Impala, the engine deafeningly painful. It felt like some sort of Soap Opera, Sam being left for dead as the only people he could call family drove off in the sunlight, singing light tunes of life better off without him. It hurt, but he didn't show it, even if he _was _alone.

That realization hit him, and hit him hard. He truly was alone, the neighboring buildings far off on the other side of the street. If anything happened within the next week or so, Dean wouldn't be there, nor would his father. Could he really make it without them? After a few memories flashed passed him, all being of Sam getting his ass saved every _damn _time, he questioned himself, his capability in anything at all. Was he more of a liability than he thought? Was he so weak that he couldn't defend himself, even against some street-roaming male hooker. It had been a close call, several years back when he was 9, and even that was accomplished with Dean's immaculate help. Was he even a Winchester?

Dean and his father were long gone. He headed back into the grimy motel, with mold growing in the corner that could more clearly be seen more as macroscopic lifeforms awaiting to devour their prey. He looked around and suddenly began to wonder if he was the only occupant in the small motel; he had seen the manager a few times, but not once had he seen in other inhabitants.

Sam walked up to their, _his, _motel room number, and keyed open the flimsy door with one jerk. He doubted the door would keep anything out that rightly needed to be, but it was better than nothing. He would just have to be ready.

He closed the door and locked up, then grabbed a chair from the kitchen, which was also part of the living room, and set it under the door handle. Feeling more secure, he sat down on his bed and picked up _Great Expectations. _It was going to be a long week.

---------------

All of a sudden, Sam heard the hushed sound of footsteps, which sent Sam jumping to his feet. Quelling a quiet, raging monstrosity in his heart he listened to the footsteps as they got louder, the sound of pounding feet beckoning to Sam.

It had only been three days since Dean and John's departure. They couldn't already be done with the hunt, for Christ's sake, it was a goddamn demon.

A fist came pounding onto the motel room door, an eerie presence sweeping across the room, coiling around Sam like a noose. The hinges nearly snapped from the pressure of the stranger's fist but, to Sam's surprise, they had held firm. Quickly, Sam crept toward his mattress and stuffed his hand under it, shuffling around until, seconds later, his hand was grasping at the hilt of his knife frantically, like a human gulping for fresh air. His knife, small but deadly. Unlike Dean, Sam was into the close combat. It was something he was good at, and nobody had to ask him to practice throwing knives, it had already become a deadly hobby. Pulling it out quietly and tediously, possibly hoping the person at the door would go away if they heard no oncoming responses, Sam put the knife into the waistband of his jeans on the small of his back. It's presence was reassuring, a cold reminder that, though, his family he wasn't there, that didn't mean he was alone.

He stood his ground as the knocking got harder.

"Come out you damn boy, I know you're in there!"

The voice caught Sam by surprise, th masculine and hoarse sound seeming familiar. It was the manager of the motel and, by the looks of it, it was only him and Sam. If this manager was bad news, he was in deep shit.

As if on cue, the door burst open in a heap of wood and thin steel. A muscular man, probably in his mid-40s, appeared at the entrance, a snarky ass look on his face. His dark brown hair was smooth back, probably to cover up a few upcoming bald spots. His shirt was musty and dirty, stains all over the front, while his jeans had ragged holes where the knees were. Sam hacked his brain for anything he had on the man, but all he could remember was that his name was David. David Brechett.

"I know your daddy left you, kid. He doesn't care about you, you're a nuisance and a disgrace to you're family." David Bechett walked closer to him. Sam instinctively backed further away until he hit the wall with his heel. Fuck. "I've seen things like this happen to kids like you more times than I could count, son." He paused, taking the time to aware Sam of the seriousness of the situation. He bust out a pistol from under his shirt, the probability of it being fully loaded extremely likely, as he gripped it professionally, aiming at headshot.

Sam's facade began to crumble. What was he supposed to do now? What did this man want? He felt the cold knife against his back, reminding him instantly. He was a Winchester. If he was going to die, he'd sure as hell go out fighting. Even so, how could he even think to die like this? How could he allow himself to die, no less by a _human, _while Dean and John were out on a hunt, too preoccupied to worry about him.

"What do you want?" Sam asked as venomously as he could attain. David smiled in return, his white teeth glistening from the window's reflections.

"Does it really matter at this point?" He said, stepping forward in Sam's direction. "Come here for a second, I need to show you something."

Sam stayed where he was. He may have been naive when it came to certain things, but he wasn't very trusting and he _did_ have at least somecommon sense.

In one swift motion, the man ran up to Sam and reached for him. Sam sidestepped just in time to dodge the hand going for his neck. And, instead of the hand, it was a knee. To the groin. He crumpled over, holding his lower stomach, hoping indirectly affecting the area would help lessen the pain of his crotch.

He looked up the see the big man staring down at him, watching him warningly, warily. What did he think Sam would possibly do?

This.

Sam thrust himself from his kneeling position to stand full height, unconsciously realizing how short he was compared to David Brechett, and yanked his knife from underneath his shirt. He held it in front of his body protectively, his father's words echoing in his head. He would have to find an opening, the man's weak point.

With situations like this, in times of close combat, guns were not very practical. Obviously, the man hadn't expected much of a fight, which pissed Sam off even more for some reason. He was only 11, no, _12_, what else would the man expect from a scrawny kid like him?

Swiftly, with a speed no normal 12 year old could accomplish, Sam made for the man's gut, thrusting his knife toward the man in one motion. Unfortunately, David had moved just in time to save himself from a fatal wound, now left only with a shallow piercing through the hand.

He screamed in pain and shock, dropping the pistol to the floor as he clutched at his hand. Sam had paid no heed, already out the door. He ran hard, thankful for John's tough survival trainings. He could hear the man already behind him, spitting curses at him as his longer, more muscular legs worker to Sam's pace, then faster.

Sam ran even faster, his legs on fire and his heart in his stomach. This man was good. Sam had the endurance, but he didn't have the speed.

Then he'd have to have the wit.

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_HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!!!!!!! _

This choice had been the winner in one of our previous polls so, hopefully, it was decent. If you dont like where im taking this let me know. We can choose another topic to write about...  
At this point, im not really sure what im going to do with this story, i dont want to do a copycat of someone else's, but i also dont want it to be stupid. If anyone has any ideas i could base the future event's for the story on, let me know!! thanks so much!!!

i realize its a little shorter than i had said i would make all my chapters but, truthfully, i just wanted to get it up. Not only that but, its 1:30 in the morning and im tired....Im curious to see you guys response. I love the reviews you send too, very touching. More is good

_Reviews are great, especially for new fanfics!!--just a head's up =P_

**TAKE THE POLL ON MY PROFILE PAGE!!!!! please review!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Love you like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!  
**_P.S.- I don't have a pet dish _=O.

I should be getting a beta soon!! until then, all errors and mistakes are my own. I don't doubt that there are many _many _errors at that....

once again, i realize the length is less than satisfactory, but it was on purpose. kind of.... =)

Warning: this chapter is _kind_ of disturbing...tread lightly

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**_______________  
**

He ran hard, his feet pounding on the lobby floor as he ran for the exit. Ten more steps and he'd be out the door, hopefully in a crowd of people, of witness, to establish the man for what he was, so Sam could get out of this hellhole. He could distantly hear the man's feet as well, pushing forward faster and faster until he lunged on top of Sam, tumbling them both to the ground in a heap of limbs. Sam grunted as the man smashed onto him, knocking the breath out of him as he violently gasped for breath.

He looked up to see the exit right in front of him, nearly in reach, curtains thrown over all the windows, shielding the light that was originally meant to illuminate the lobby floor and walls. Through the thin blood-red curtains, Sam could barely make out a "Sorry, No Occupancy Currently Available" sign hanging on the glass door. Alerted and thoroughly confused, Sam didn't have time to think what it meant as the man straddled his back roughly, the man's legs grinding into his hip bones. He felt something cool touch the back of his neck, pressure increasing rapidly until he groaned. It was a knife.

Sweat dribbled down his forehead and along the side of his cheek. He was breathing loudly, as was the man, David, whom was taking in small gulps of air periodically.

"What did I tell you, kid? Nobody's coming for you. Not your dad, not your brother. Nobody." Sam could hear the smirk in his words. "They don't care about you, you little shit."

Sam lay on his stomach, itching for something, anything, he could yield as a defensive mechanism. He wanted to scratch the man's face off and blow it to bits with his own pistol, human or not. This man would _not _disrespect his family like that.

Sam ground his teeth together. "Shut the fuck up."

David Brechett laughed, sending sudden warning signals in Sam's brain, making him cringe. It only made him realize just how much trouble he was really in. He was on his stomach, flat on the floor with a 200 pound man sitting on him, and contained no weapons, hell, not even a utensil of some sort. Nothing. And what's worse, Dean and John weren't there to save him. Couldn't save him. Not this time.

David pressed the knife further into Sam's neck, drawing blood. "So, why don't you tell me why your family abandoned you? Start from the beginning, I'm all ears."

His tone was self-arrogant and cocky, like he knew he'd win the battle. He probably would. Sam's ears turned red, but otherwise reacted indifferently. "They didn't abandon me. They'll be here and when they see you they'll shove their fists down your throat."

Sam knew he was over-exaggerating in more ways than one. John and Dean were on a one-week hunt and, by the time this is all over, the two will _still _be killing the damn demon. Subconsciously, he checked to see if he sensed anything in his back pocket and internally realized it was empty, as were his front pockets. Calling Pastor Jim was out of the question.

The man grabbed Sam's arms and stuck above Sam's head, his grip tightening as he leaned down to Sam's ear. "Never threaten me. Ever. Do you understand me?"

The man's hot, foul breath on his ear made him want to die, and he cowardly hid behind his wall of stoic to stop himself from doing something stupid. His vision became hazy as tears swelled in his eyes. But he wouldn't let them fall.

"Whatever" Sam said spitefully. The word was thrown out of his mouth in a hurry, as if rushing to escape Sam's conscious before it was caught and destroyed without first passing Sam's lips. He wanted to kill himself right about then, his mind throwing thousands of expletives at him for not thinking straight. He wasn't the one to be getting sarcastic because he wasn't the one with the knife. In a heartbeat, David Brechett only had to move his knife and, in one sweep, he could finish him. If he expected to survive this, Sam had to be careful.

Thankfully, Brechett didn't seem offended. He leaned down further until he and Sam's face were side-by-side. He pecked a kiss on Sam's cheek and stroke Sam's hair lovingly. "You'll sell for a lot more than I thought." From Sam's peripheral vision he saw his smile widen impossibly further. It was maliciously deformed, his eyebrows in the shape of a "V" as he rubbed Sam's back as well. "You'll get me a fortune, boy."

Sam shivered, his thoughts suddenly going dark. This was all planned. David hadn't just bursting into his room for a good fight, but he had future ideals planned out for Sam. Tears swelled in Sam's eyes as they fell down his cheeks. He wasn't going to kill him, he was going to be sold. For what?

Nothing if he had anything to say about it.

Suddenly, with renewed meaning, he attempted to buck the man off his back, thrusting his back into the man's stomach violently. Violent or not, it did little to deter the man, and it cost Sam more loss of blood as the knife at his neck created a new trailing of blood and roll down his back.

"Now, now, child. Stay calm for me, all right?" Sam just worked to buck the man off him even more. With David's hand clasped around both of Sam's, he worked with his feet and tried kicking him, hard. He had some solid contact but, it's the legs, not the head. Not much damage was done there.

Abruptly, the man forced Sam down with all his strength, Sam's head connecting with a thud on the hard floor. He grunted, taken aback, his body halting any further movement as David allowed the knife to travel, slowly, down his back, forcing him to stiffness. Sam hissed as he continued slicing through his soft flesh, reveling in the blood he was losing. Based on the pain level, he anticipated the cut wasn't that shallow.

Sam felt the man move from his position on the small of his back and sat on his ass. Sam cringed. The knife glided down his back and, once the knife reached the waistband of his jeans, it stopped, much to Sam's relief. He turned around to see the man leaning forward and staring lustfully at the blood leaking from his wound. It went from the top to the bottom of his back, blood dripping down the sides. David Brechett brought his face down ear the top of Sam's back, flicking his tongue at the blood. He smacked his lips a few times, inquiring the taste of it. He was breathing hard, as if trying to control himself before he did something stupid. Without warning, David slammed his lips on Sam's back, sucking infinitely as he drank his blood like a Slurpee.

Sam screamed, his hands flailing and his legs kicking out at anything and everything, which was only air. His body didn't know what to do, couldn't comprehend the situation he was confronted with. Was this man really a vampire, or was he in it for the kicks? Deep in Sam's gut, he subconsciously realized the latter would be so much worse.

The man, surprised, yanked him to the floor again and pushed down on him, grabbing for Sam's hands to keep them constricted. When he did, however, his hand fumbled with Sam's right hand. It was a careless mistake, one that should never have occured, but a mistake was a mistake, and Sam would take it. He threw his arm back, his elbow connecting brutally with the man's face. The man cursed loudly as he covered his face protectively with his hand, the other thrashing around aimlessly for a target.

Sam got to his feet in a flash and ran for the exit, his heart in his gut and his brain fried spaghetti. Right when his hand made contact with the door handle, an electrical current shot through Sam's arm and ran all over his body in a violent, malevolent rush. He jumped as the pain covered him, everywhere seering with unimaginable echoes of misery, capturing him like a small bunny to that of a predator. Damn it, there was no way out. He was trapped.

He spun around, his heart fluttering with unknown ecstasy to see David Brechett still on the ground, screaming out promises and threats of torture and pain. Though Sam did not appreciate his choice of words, and the graphic, detailed descriptions of his plans, he did appreciate his present position. He was on the ground, sprawled out with both hands over his face. They were all bloody, and Sam could faintly tell it was coming from his nose. Sam turned around and ran out of the lobby, in search of another exit. His mind was set on the door handle. The man had thought it all out, gotten all the traps ready and prepared for it's victims. But how could he know Sam would be the only occupant of the motel? Surely he didn't know Dean and his father would leave. Surely he hadn't known Sam was all alone, that someone would come and want a room to stay in, too. Sam sighed. That's why the sign was there on the door, to keep everyone out. Fuck.

Sam urged his body on, forcing down the exhaustion setting in to continue his search. He couldn't let it end like this, not on his special day. Why did this happen to him?

He turned the corner and ran down an unpleasantly foul-smelling hall. It smelled of blood, lots and lots of blood. Horrific fascination getting the better of him, he opened one of the doors and reveled in the sight before him. There was a couple, lying on the double-sized bed and smothered with blood-- their blood. There was a severed arm on the floor, the husband's head, his eyes wide open and his tongue hanging out of his mouth in a heap of more red, and a sick wad of intestines sticking to the floor. Sam gasped, suddenly feeling nauseous. That's how the man knew there would be no one to interrupt his sick plans-- he killed them all off.

Sam threw up.

---------

After checking all the surrounding area and finding no convenient methods of escape, it suddenly dawned on Sam. He had left his cell phone in the motel room, on top of the bed. Taking a quick look around the room for David Brechett, whom was no where in sight, he ran to his room. Half-heartedly, he considered being more discrete, more stealthy, but his high adrenaline was urging him on. There was no stopping him if he wanted to, he had to call Pastor Jim.

He ran past the lobby, to which a heap of blood lay on the floor, but no David, and reached his room in a hurry. The sight before Sam made him stop dead in his tracks, his priority of getting to a phone a little lower down the list now. There stood David Brechett, dried blood around his nose and mouth, a look of downright evil in his eyes. There was a glint of lust, but was soon overcome by a malicious need for the spilling of blood and, by God, it wouldn't be his. Also, Sam inquired how tense David's shoulder muscles were, as if ready to pounce on it's next victim, it's prey. His eyes looked evil, as if Satan had come up to him and possessed him for a day. This was not the David Brechett he remembered when they first met; he had acted so nice. Key word: _acted._

New priority: survive.

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hope u liked it!

i realize its not super long, but i thought i would end on a good spot.

_I would like to address one of the reviews for a moment, it actually made me really sad and I hope to see the rest of you to be a little more constructive with future reviews. The review had stated that the chapter wasnt original and that i had stolen it from someone else. It hurt, more than im willing to admit; not because its true, if youve read Negligence by kokoda you'd know its not, but because he/she hadnt even given me a chance to get into the plot and im already accused of copycat. I implore you to not show hatred to another based on one chapter, not just for me but for other authors as well. They work hard to make stories for you guys, put time into their work so you can enjoy them. And usually, when a story is discontinued, its for that one negative comment that sends their self-esteem plummeting drastically. I hope the reviewer realizes now that this story is in no way a copycat and, though it was drastically ridiculing, i have already forgiven you...if u want to be forgiven. I guess thats just my teenage, 15 year old, ways hitting me. I dont mind critiscm as long as its constructive!!!!_

i hadnt really known how i would do this story, it was just kinda spur of the moment kind of thing. i havent been getting many reviews for this story, i realized. I hope you guys, and by guys I mean everybody, that actually like this are just not reviewing, because i only had 10 for the first chapter. and, the thing is, **i have 52 Story Alerts for this story. 52!! thts a LOT for 1 chapter. thats why im so confused why nobody's review. please take the time to review, they make my day!! Without reviews, I wont know who likes or doesnt like it so ill know if i should continue!!**

REVIEWS ARE LIKE COCKROACHES: NO MATTER WHAT, THEY'LL ALWAYS STAY WITH YOU!!!

**POLL FOR 'TRUTH FORGOTTEN' ON PROFILE PAGE!!!!**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!  
**_P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O **

I may soon be getting a beta! YAY!!! hope u like it!!!!!

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!** sorry, not too long..

**__________________________HAPPY BIRTHDAY BECCI!!!!!!!!______________________________**

"There you are, boy. I've been lookin' for you" David Brechett said, a glint in his eyes as he wiped the blood off his nose. It had a weird angle to it, the hook of his nose slanting slightly to the left, probably broken.

Sam drew in a breath, his oxygen losing him. He looked around frantically, not necessarily for help, he knew the statistics of someone coming to help him were slim, but for a weapon. He saw a sofa, which obviously wouldn't be an option, a painting hanging on the wall, and a lit candle. Sam ran for the candle, conveniently located in the opposite direction of the man, his feet bouncing off the floor. The man dashed after him, his long legs pumping fast in Sam's direction.

"There's no where to run, boy. You can't escape me."

It only made Sam run faster, sprinting full force. It was like a all-or-nothing, hardcore workout with John, except in more enclosed spaces and significantly more life threatening. It urged him forward, until he found himself grasping the waxy part of the candle. The wax was already melting, burning onto his skin, but he didn't feel it, it was just a numbing sensation. That's what adrenaline does to you.

He spun around and, just as he did, the man was on him. He pushed into Sam, which was a curious thing, because the man had been holding a knife, why not use it? Either way, it was a matter to dispute later. He tossed Sam to the floor like a ragdoll, his back knocking onto the cold floor with a small thud, and straddled his legs mercilessly.

Sam gasped, thrashing his arms around endlessly before they were snatched and thrown to his sides, held down by the man's strong hands. His legs were immobile with the man's weight, so Sam moved on drastically to his last resort. He pushed himself off the floor, barely, but enough. His head clashed with the man's, their foreheads bursting in pain as they connected. David gasped, throwing his hands to his face, freeing Sam's. He had been expecting the pain, and it didn't affect him as much. He pushed at the man's statue-like body, as if pushing a goddamn bull. He wouldn't _move, _goddamn it.

Sam, wondering why he hadn't thought of it sooner, began punching the man, hoping it would throw him off his legs. It did no so thing, as the man recovered quickly and caught one of Sam's fists mid-air. Sam panicked, flailing his other hand at the man, which he caught by his thin wrist. How he had gotten so good, Sam didn't want to know, but he did know one thing: This could be very, very bad.

The man smirked, eyeing Sam's wrist, then the rest of him. "Damn, kid, you're skinny. You abused or somethin'?" Sam squirmed, pushing frantically at the pressure the man was releasing . He wasn't numb anymore, not at all, he hurt like hell.

The man put Sam's two hands in his own and slapped Sam hard, a red handprint faintly visible on his cheek. "Answer me, bitch. You abused?"

Sam whimpered quietly, shaking his head violently. "No." It was a questioning inquiry for Sam, even in this situation, and he'd have to put more thought to it if he survived. What was the official term for abuse? In a sense, the way John Winchester treated him, it could be considered abuse by a numerous set of people.

David Brechett nodded, as if interested in Sam's personal life. It wouldn't be the topic of choice for a normal kidnapper but, Sam had to remember, this wasn't a normal kidnapper.

He eyed Sam carefully. "You love 'em? Your dad and that other kid, your brother?" He asked, threading his fingers through Sam's hair. Sam stiffened, his face growing red, redder than the handprint on his cheek.

"Y-Yes" He breathed out, suddenly feeling inebriated.

The man watched him earnestly, as if hanging on Sam's every word, _obsessed_. It was frightening on the best of days.

"What do you do for fun, Sam? Hmm? What do you do? Read? Drugs? Sports?" He paused. "Sex?"

Sam shivered, a cold tingle running down his spine all the way down his back. He must have known Sam's name from when they first moved in, John probably using it more than once. But, the real question was, why was this man asking him all these things? It didn't make sense. He had never met him before, aside from walking passed him in the hall, and should mean nothing to this man. Sam shook his head vehemently, working so hard to stay strong.

"Then what do you do, boy?" He asked. Getting no response, he entangled his fingers from Sam's hair and slapped him again, on the other cheek this time, leaving the same imprint.

"Tell me!" he shrieked. Sam whimpered, cowering his head away as far as he could which, in truth, wasn't that far. Sam shut his eyes tight, praying that when he opened them, _if _he opened them, he'd see Dean, hovering over him like the protective brother he was. He squinted his eyes open, peering warily at the figure in front of him. No change.

"I...I hunt, sir" Sam said cautiously, tediously, wondering if he should go more in depth, wondering why he had called him "sir". The man seemed to accept it, though, and his face softened, slightly.

"Come here."

Sam looked at him confusedly as he motioned him in his direction. They were now sitting right next to each other, how else would he "come here" without sitting in his damn lap.

Fuck.

Sam didn't move from his spot, too stiff to mobilize himself. The man, a little angry but not angry enough to do something about it, hoisted Sam onto his lap and held him as if he were a cute, playful puppy. Sam struggled half-heartedly, but he already knew the end results. He'd twist and turn, get yelled at, then slapped, and the process would repeat itself. \

Sam looked around, no longer looking for a weapon. He was now looking for something to distract him from the man he was literally sitting on, to help him get away, even if but for a moment. He caught something in the top corner of the ceiling, a small black object with an even smaller blinking red light. Sam observed it closely, squinting to concentrate as the man played with his hair. It was a camera, in view of the whole room, recording everything that had happened. Sam gasped loudly.

The man looked up to Sam's line of vision. He smiled proudly as he spotted the camera. "Ah, so you found it. Isn't it exciting? You get to be on TV now, with the whole world watching you." He kissed Sam's hair as his eyes widened to the size of...damn, the size of the whole fucking world. What if Dean saw this, or Dad? What would they think of him?

The camera was attached to the intersection of the ceiling and wall and, at that height, Sam would never reach it, not with his hands alone. Sam panicked. He thrashed forcefully into the man's chest, pushing him away frantically.

"Fuck, boy, chill out. I thought you wanted to be seen." He smiled grimly. "The way you strut around the place, I thought you wanted _everyone _to see you." The man placed another knife to the nape of Sam's neck. Sam froze instantly, the hairs on his neck standing on end, eyeing the man as he waited for his next move. The man continued, "Your brother may not have seen you. Your dad may not have seen you." He twirled Sam's chocolate-colored hair with his index finger, smelling it. "But I noticed you, boy. _I _noticed you."

Sam stayed as still as he could as he felt a slimy, wet, and saliva-filled substance press against his neck. The man's tongue. It began to play with Sam's ear, teasing it as it went inside, then worked at the surrounding area, before going back into the owner's mouth. Sam shivered. The man's breath was hot on his neck.

"How old are you, boy?"

Sam paused, wondering if he should use his real age. What difference would it make?

"Twelve."

Brechett nodded gleefully. "Ah, that's a wonderful age, boy."

After a few minutes of silence, he started back up again.

"What's your favorite color?"

Sam, already scared to death, even by miniscule questions such as these, was frantically trying to calculate if it was a trick question in his head. What could his favorite color have to do with anything? Was the man trying to determine something on Sam based on his preferred shirt color? The man slapped the small of his back. "Green" Sam spilled.

The man nodded, then said, "Ahh, that's a beautiful color, Sammy."

Sam stiffened, a look of anger suddenly crossing his features, his hands clenching into fists until he drew blood. There was one person that called him Sammy. One. And this man, David-_fucking-_Brechett, was _not _that one. "It's Sam."

David looked at him, puzzled. "What's that?"

Sam turned to face the man. "My name. It's Sam."

The man looked at him, disoriented by his response. He obviously hadn't expected a 12 year old kid to last this long against him. How many kids had this man broken? One? None? Many? The man's surprise quickly turned to fury as he looked at Sam vehemently.

"Your name is whatever I want it to be." He eyed Sam, reading his emotions, maybe. "Understood?"

Sam eyed him as well, doing the same. "Well, unfortunately for you, I have one name, and one name only, and it's Sam."

Sam wanted to smack himself, maybe shove an axe down his throat right then and there. Why did he choose _now _to be all courageous and brave, the kid saving the damsel in distress- would _he _be the damsel in distress, saving himself? This man, weidling a quite deadly weapon, was the person Sam was back-talking to. There was something _so _fucking wrong with that picture he didn't know where to begin.

The man pulled Sam up roughly, briskly and effectively getting him on his feet before dragging him swiftly across the room. Sam's knees were trailing on the hard floor as he grunted, feeling the bruises he knew were soon to come. He could feel his eyes swell with water, but he stopped them there. He wouldn't cry, not now. He didn't even know what was going to happen yet. Maybe he'd let him go.

As Sam passed through all the rooms on his knees, he realized the motel was a lot bigger than he realized. The whole "quality over quantity" didn't really come into affect with this place. A large amount of stuff, but a large amount of shit.

Sam cringed as his left knee ran over a small candle holder on the floor. "Where are you taking me?" he managed to hiss out, clenching his teeth tightly as to not cry out.

The man smiled sinisterly, a glint of something undefinable in his eyes. "You'll see, boy. It's time to demonstrate who's really running this show. "

**__________________________**

_HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!!!!!!!_

im kind of excited about this story. its a very hard topic to write about, in the sense that i don't know if i could write anything graphic or perverted. Oh well, im working on it, because i know that some people really seem to enjoy that. Kinda icky, but nonetheless depressing, and also consisting of much limp!Sam. YAY!!  
_**Really appreciate all the people checking this out. I have a new record of how many people have looked at my stories in one day: 2,350 views. I have gotten close to 2,000 several times, but never actually broke it. I want to thank everybody that contributed, and hope to reach ANOTHER new record soon!! love u guys/girls!! --ShhUrDead678**_

_Ok, sorry this chapter isnt very long. We had a double-header today for softball- in BIRMINGHAM! kinda far away. The first game we won by one, the second we lost by one. We did really bad. Anyway, back to my point. Affttteerrrr the game, my big sis had to do something at her job, which lasted maybe 35 min. We got home around 10:15. Not bad, right? Well, then we put my dad into the equation...not so good. You know how parents would say something, then tell you to do the opposite? If u know what im talking about, its the WORST! im only fifteen and there have been a lot of rough patches...ughh..anyway, so here's how it went down. (This is one-sided conversation with my dad and sis, Carmen...very time-consuming for me)  
Dad: [Throws Carmen's book to the floor violently] Damnit, Carmen, I'm tired of you acting like this. I want to know exactly why you act like a bitch all the time. Say it!  
Carmen: Oh my gosh, Da-  
Dad: DAMNIT Carmen, i don't want to hear it! Just shut up! [kisses Carmen a little roughly on the cheek] Good night. [Carmen stalks up the stairs to her room]  
and then there i am, being stupid, and putting myself in the middle.  
Cristina (me): Holy crap, Dad, you just told her to tell you why she's acting like a bitch then tell her to shut up?!? ----it didnt end well...._

_ANYWAYYY!!!! that was kinda random, but there was a point to this. And, no, its not to prove that parents are evil. I wanted you to know that, for future reference, i won'T usually have chapters this short. I wanted to get it up today for Becci and wrote it as long as i could...until midnight, of course, thats when i put it up =)_

ok, one more thing. I, once again, tried shortening my descriptions. See how that works out for u guys.

**this chapter was dedicated to the anonymous reader Becci, whose birthday is today!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, girl!! luv ya!!!!  
-let me know if anyone elses birthday is comin up soon and ill get them a chapter! just tell me a day or two in advance!  
P.S.---Becci, i wanna know what u get, k? hee hee....**

SORRY ABOUT THE LENGTH, BECCI AND OTHERS!!!!

**TAKE THE POLL, PEEPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


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